Chapter 36
Eric McGill sat at the hospital holding his son. Ten fingers, ten toes, and some powerful lungs. Luke McGill screamed as though he thought the world was ending. Eric cried as he looked at the tiny pink face bunched up and yelling. It was a miracle the doctors had been able to save and deliver the bundle in his arms. But Jenny…
“I shouldn’t have moved us here. She wouldn’t have been on the road if not for me. I’m sorry little guy; it’s just you and me from here on out. But I promise you, I’ll make sure you know that your mommy loved you.” He said.
The former cop rocked his son and cooed until the babe dozed peacefully. A nurse checked in and brought a bottle for the resting child. Eric listened to the instructions and carried them out, but he never heard them. He thought of all the pleasant memories he’d had with Jenny.
Dancing, watching awesomely bad movies together, playing games with their friends, and just talking. He recalled the moment he found her committing a murder and realized he had never truly accepted the terrible crimes she’d done but Eric had always loved her. As Luke had his first meal, Eric vowed the child would only ever know the good things about his wife. Never about her dark hobby.
***
A week after the funeral, Eric finally opened Jenny’s toolbox. He looked at the last few hundred dollars of money stolen from the killing of the meth cook. Pocketing the cash for deposit into Luke’s college fund, he picked up the other items one by one.
“A cut of lumber, theater receipt, rusty bent nail, silver ring, chapstick tube, coupon, flattened coin, billiard’s ball,” He ticked off as he examined each trophy. “…And a smooth rock from the park.”
Eric held the stone in his palm and thought for two minutes. With a long exhale, he placed the stone in his front pocket. He could destroy the rest, but the stone was from the first day he’d met Jenny. There was nothing about it to tie her to any crimes. She’d been a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.
He sat in the backyard holding his sleeping child. A roaring fire devoured the evidence of his late wife’s murders. He whispered happy stories of karaoke nights, poker games, and reading Dr. Seuss to her tummy. Luke Malcolm McGill listened to his father’s voice and curled against his chest. For an instant the baby heard a sweet woman’s voice speaking gleefully about carousels, walks in the park, and rivers of blood.
THE END